Látinghal, rog ang! “Stop, you demon you, stop!” The cry rang out in the sudden silence of the chill night. The wind had died completely. Húla never hesitated: even in his state, he knew that the cry wasn't aimed at him. As he ran through the fields surrounding the village, he could see torches and Wombáts rushing to and fro. What finally broke into his panicked mind was the realization that they were clustered around a shop... his shop! He hurried to the door, terrified that something should have befallen his livelihood. He was met at the door by his apprentice Twóva. Húla, wó! É thímbanwo! “Húla, oh, it's horrible! You won't believe it!” “What is it Twóva, tell me, is someone hurt?” “Oh, it's even worse! A giant Túpló got in somehow! Oh, Húla, it ate all the Spundlemuffin dough!” The good baker sank to his knees, his face whiter than his apprentice's flour stained hands. “Don't worry though, snúltel Phluphún was locking up his back door across the alley just as it made a break for it, and beaned it with a kettle! It won't get far!” To the Twóva's sruprise, this news didn't seem to cheer the baker any, but rather inspired a strangely suspicious look on his face. Without saying a word, he dashed away into the night.
Húla hurried through the dark streets of the town, and doubted that he could take much more of this dashing about in the wee hours of the morning, not at his age at least. When he was a young Wombát, he had always been game for a late-night jaunt, but these days.... His reverie was broken when he realized that he had reached his destination: the fort on the hill above town. There seemed to be some commotion here, too. Húla saw the Wombát that he recognized to be the company surgeon, who was latching up his medical chest. “Doctor, what happened here?” “Well, it's the oddest thing, now that you ask. The watchman found young Phólatip passed out at he bottom of the perimeter ditch, stark naked! And on a night like this! Young ones these days, sometimes I just don't know.... He also seemed to have picked up a solid knock to the head along the way, so I put him to bed with a hot water bottle. He'll be better by morning.”
“So from then on, I knew that Phólatip was a weretúpló. I was terrified to be alone with him, to the point that I never could bring myself to set foot in my own shop on Thursdays... I had to have Twóva see to all the business then. I held my peace for years out of fright. But I'm telling you now since Phólatip has been transfered back up to Híz, and since this is some mighty fine medh! Cheers, Mr. Bund!”
Also, stay tuned for future KÓGESH SILAWA.